The Adler Chronicles
by SH Docks
Summary: It's May of 2000, and a high school senior from Trenton, New Jersey is about to make a series of decisions which she little knows will set her on the path to becoming The Woman.
1. Chapter 1

**"Keith Adler**  
><strong>March 22, 1957 - November 6, 1991"<strong>

Even after eight and a half years, the black engraving looked sharp and fresh against the light granite slab. Irene stood with her hands in her jacket pockets, just staring. By careful practice, she had learned how to keep from crying when she came here; from experience, she knew that one technique was to keep from saying anything right away.

She focused on a weathered and ugly wreath two plots down, concentrated on its physical existence; the olive-colored leaves were plastic and fraying, the rosettes a garish magenta hue. Most had fallen off, leaving it lopsided in design and weight. It hung crooked, a bent mess of wires, plastic, and glue. It didn't symbolize anything - it was just a collection of atoms. _"Good,"_ she thought, and turned back to the stone in front of her.

"The stupid thing is, I like it here. I've had it to my forehead with the whole ofTrenton. Sick to death of every corner, except my dad's grave." She paused as if giving the tombstone time to answer - it made it feel like a conversation. "I hope you wouldn't think that your daughter is terribly morbid, if I had gotten the chance to say that to you."

Another pause to let the stone respond.

"I know I don't normally visit on school days, but this is going to be my last chance for… a while." She pulled a bulky Polaroid out of her bag and aimed it at the headstone. "If I'm lucky enough, it might be the last chance I get until I'm ready to stay here.

With a click and a whirr, the camera ejected a still-gray photograph of the tombstone. Irene turned the camera on herself and clicked again.

"I have one more day of school as a minor," she said, "then tomorrow I'm 18." She paused thoughtfully and lowered her voice. "You always said I was too smart for my own good. I think I can finally prove you right."

The second photograph had finished printing. She looked at it - her hair was unbrushed, her face bare and splotchy, her bearing generally awkward. "Just how you would have remembered me," she laughed. Then gathering her things, she set the newly developed picture on top of the grave. A glance at her leather watch pressured her to finish quickly, and the pressure evoked that long-forgotten feeling of fighting against tears.

"I'll see you someday."

And she marched back toward the cemetery entrance, where she had left her bike. She had ten minutes to make it to the high school a mile away; then her eight-hour countdown would begin.


	2. Chapter 2

Irene knew she could be pretty, there was no doubt there; but she preferred camouflage. In the refuse-packed halls and stairways that comprised her public high school, the pretty girls had quite an advantage in the dating field, and that wasn't the sort of advantage she needed. While she was here, she never wanted to be noticed, and she always knew she would be if she wasn't careful.

She had managed to slip through the social world of her peers largely invisible, away from the curious, hungry yardsticks of teenage standards. But last week, she had grown too confident under the promise of her imminent freedom, and made her first - and only - mistake.

With the warmer weather finally settling over the north Atlantic coast, the physical education courses of Trenton High made their annual migration to the swimming pool. Normally when they swam, Irene made sure to throw a t-shirt over her suit - not for modesty, but to keep from encouraging the unwanted attentions of the rabble of her year.

She had already donned her solid, black, Speedo one-piece by the time she realized what was missing from her dufflebag. It irked her that she had been so careless with her looming departure foremost in her mind; nevertheless, she was so close to the end she was sure it wouldn't hurt.

Except, now it was hurting. Physically, as the locker handle bore into her back and her assailant's thumbs dug into the soft tissue by her clavicle. Kloe Gorman was an intimidatingly tall outside hitter on the volleyball team, and she hadn't liked the way her boyfriend had glanced after this unremarkable loner as she exited the pool earlier that day.

"So what now, all the sudden you wanna get the boys? You think all the sudden can just take off your stupid clothes and put on your stupid swimsuit, and suddenly become _one of us_? You'll have to do better than that if you wanna play with the _real_ women, slut."

It was 2:31 PM on the day before Irene's 18th birthday. Four years of successfully avoiding run-ins with the dim-witted "queen bees" of Trenton High, and now with only one hour to go, she was literally backed into a corner.

Bearing the pressure and the pain was easy - Irene was tough - but feigning weakness under Kloe's iron grip gave her time to think. Irene could say with fair confidence that if she had to, she could throw the much taller girl with relative ease, but untangling the results of such an encounter wouldn't be as simple. A fist fight would draw attention and lead inevitably to the phone call home which Irene had spent every ounce of her efforts through high school avoiding; if the faculty ever had to speak to her mother for any reason, all her plans would be ruined. To that end, she had kept every attendance check spotless and every report card exemplary.

"Say something, bitch!" Kloe yelled, jerking Irene and slamming her back into the lockers again. A slight throbbing pain shot through the muscles in her back and she knew her time to analyze was over. How could she get Kloe off her back without the attentions drawn by physical force?

With a slight shift in weight, she managed to regain just enough control over her own limbs again to reach for Kloe's neck. Pulling her face in closer, she leaned deep in toward Kloe and with aggressive energy, kissed her hard on the lips. The taller girl screamed and extracted herself after a moment's struggle against Irene's firm hands.

"You whore!" Reeling back, she put the full spiking force of her volleyball-trained limbs into an unbridled slap against Irene's face. The force of it sent the smaller girl reeling and tripping to the ground. Tears sprung to her face instantly as a purely physical, bodily reaction; emotionally they were indicative of nothing. She could scarcely catch her breath and refocus in time to hear Kloe yelling as she retreated to the main hallway, "You evil whore!"

The threat was gone, but Irene knew she still had to cover up the incident with haste. She could feel that her eyes were nearly bloodshot from the residual pain and had no doubt her face was brightly flushed.

"Fix it quickly," she muttered to herself, dashing to a nearby water fountain and plunging her face into its cooling stream. "Anyone who sees you like this is going to have questions." She could see her reflection in the metal just well enough to know when her appearance was passable, then she had a minute left to make it to chemistry before the bell.

It was a stretch, and she came through the door at a sprint just under the wire.

"Miss Adler," the teacher noted impassively, "you look flushed."

Irene hid her panic well. "Well I ran all the way here."

"You didn't have to do that," he muttered, indicating to an open seat for her near the front. "You were putting in your order for your cap and gown, weren't you?"

Irene had almost forgotten - she was expected to be graduating in three weeks. "Yes," she blurted quickly, "yes, I needed my cap and gown."

"Well then, no need to be bursting through doors at the heels of the final bell, I'm not in actual fact a tyrant."

"Of course. Sorry."

The teacher returned his attentions to the board at the front, ready to begin his last class of the day, and the last class of Irene's life.


End file.
